


Row Row Row Your Boat

by totesdefmorgs



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alex is NOT prepared, Alex is a thirsty mess, Attempt at Humor, Henry being kinda devious, Henry is hot af, M/M, Not Beta Read, Regattas, Rowing, Spandex, excessive use of the word 'pants', if anyone could make spandex sexy it's henry-fox-mountchristen-windsor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29310183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totesdefmorgs/pseuds/totesdefmorgs
Summary: Not only is Henry a fantastic polo player, he is also fantastic rower.Alex attends his first regatta to watch Henry and he has a few (many) thoughts about Henry's rowing attire.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 21
Kudos: 97





	Row Row Row Your Boat

When Henry invited Alex to this regatta thing, Alex didn’t really know what to expect. Honestly, he figured it would be like the polo match in Greenwich - watch Henry do his thing in a ridiculously competent fashion that would surely turn him on and then they would make their way to whatever the rowing equivalent of the polo white-people-sex-dungeon would be and … talk about the race? Yeah, something like that. 

Alex knew what to expect with polo. He could handle polo. Polo was safe. 

There were actual pants and a shirt and boots involved when Henry played polo. And, yes. All of those articles of clothing made Henry look like some kind of horse god, galloping around and flexing his muscles, and Alex spent every minute of those matches waiting to peel off every single article of clothing from Henry’s body. This was all old news now, though. Alex knew exactly what he was getting into with polo and, as such, prepared himself accordingly. 

  
  


You see, rowing started out fine. Just fine. Before the races started, Henry and his teammates were walking around in joggers and hoodies to keep warm on a stereotypically chilly and overcast day in Britain. It was fine. So Fine. So fucking fine. Henry introduced him to the rest of his crew, showed him around the boathouse (which was decidedly lacking in a white-people-sex-dungeon much to his chagrin). Sure, Henry was absolutely fucking gorgeous just when he breathed, and watching him walk around the boats and listening to him say a bunch of nautical shit was really starting to do things to him. All of this was to be expected, but in general he felt safe. He thought that surely due to the weather, the hoodies and joggers would remain in place, surely those were the uniforms. Rowing seemed safe, maybe even safer than polo. 

Alex had been wrong many times in his short life. It was tough to get him to admit it sometimes (most of the time), but this time Alex was _wrong_. 

Man, was he fucking wrong this time. 

***

Henry’s was the first race of the regatta, and Alex was comfortably seated with Bea in an observation area at the finish line, having left Henry at the boathouse to get ready. The commentator’s voice rang out over the loudspeakers letting everyone know that Henry’s boat was in the lead! 

Henry’s boat rounded the riverbend and Alex just about fell out of his fucking seat. 

“Bea, what the fuck?” Was that his voice, that high fucking screeching sound? 

His arm shot out and grabbed Bea’s shoulder to steady himself.

“What? What’s wrong?” she sounded alarmed. 

“What the fuck is that?” his brain was no longer functioning at the sight of his boyfriend, his fucking Henry in that damn boat. 

What. in. the. actual. fuck? 

Gone was any grasp of either language he could speak. No words. Nothing was computing in his brain. 

“Alex.” 

“Alex.” 

“Huh?” Bea’s hand waving in front of his face broke him out of whatever spandex induced spiral he’d been stuck in. 

“I lost you for a second there.” 

“Uhh, yeah. Um. Where did the pants go? And - and the sleeves?” 

“The pants? What are you on about, mate?” 

“The pants, Bea, the pants!” Why was she not getting this? 

“Yes, you keep saying that but what about ‘pants’”?” Bea laughed, ignoring the stares they were now receiving thanks to Alex’s repeated shouting of ‘pants’ among British high society. 

Alex leveled her with a less than impressed look. 

“I’m yelling about Henry’s pants! Where are his fucking pants?!” he ran a hand through his hair, signing. 

Bea looked confused, “Look, Henry’s pants are really more your department, right? Also, my brother’s pants are not exactly what I usually think about.” 

Alex arched an eyebrow. “What -oh!” Alex blushed, having remembered what ‘pants’ means on the British side of the pond. “Oh god, not his underwear! His like … bottoms, trousers, whatever!” 

Bea was cackling at this point, which did nothing to lessen the attention they were drawing. 

“Alex, have you ever seen a regatta before?” she teased. 

“Well, obviously not. How could you not tell me about the spandex! How could _he_ not tell me about the spandex!” 

Yes, the spandex. His boyfriend was in spandex. Skin tight. So tight. Spandex. 

Those joggers and hoodies? Fucking gone, long gone. 

In their place, a spandex suit type thing. S P A N D E X

Henry's wearing spandex. Henry is in a boat, muscles straining, moving in perfect sync with the other rowers in the boat, in fucking in _spandex_. 

What the fuck? What the ACTUAL fuck? What happened to the pants? What happened to the sleeves and the -- the? What the fuck? 

“Oh, fuck.” he breathed. His mind was completely shut down, overloaded with the image of Henry’s broad shoulders on display in the skin tight fabric that clung to every muscle in his torso. And the legs. His _legs_ , bare from ankle to mid-thigh, calves and thighs straining with the effort of each stroke. The dip of Henry’s waist on full display. Fuck. 

Nope. Nope. Nope. He desperately needed to think of something else if he had any chance of willing away the growing situation in his chinos. 

“Ok, Alex, buddy. I’m going to need you to come back to me, because seeing you eye fuck my brother is a big fat nope for me.” 

Alex blushed. Because, yeah he’d sort of forgotten about Bea. 

During his freak out, Alex almost missed seeing Henry’s team cross the finish line almost a full boat length ahead of the nearest boat. 

“I...uh...I’m just gonna go find Henry.” Alex muttered, anxious to get his hands on his boyfriend. 

“Text me when it’s all clear to join.” Bea teased as he stumbled out of the spectators box. 

Alex rushed as quickly as he could toward where Henry’s boat was going to dock. He could already see a few other well-wishers and family members gathered to congratulate the crew. The boat was firmly situated against the dock and the crew were starting to exit the boat. 

In all of Alex’s mental freak out, he never once imagined what Henry’s ass might look like. 

This was a mistake. 

A huge fucking mistake, because when Henry stood up out of the boat, Alex promptly died. RIP. No more Alex. Cause of death: exposure to Henry’s ass in spandex. Goodbye world. This is the end. 

Any hope Alex had of controlling himself flew out the fucking window. He needed Henry and he needed him right fucking then. 

Alex was still making his way to Henry when the unthinkable happened. If Alex wasn’t already so fucked, he definitely was after Henry’s little display of bending over to help lift the boat of the water. 

Shit shit shit shit. He’s so fucked. So fucking fucked. 

Henry and the crew walked their boat into the boathouse and started putting away their equipment. All the while, Alex waited very impatiently just inside the door to the boathouse, waited for Henry to be finished with his team shit so he could have his way with him. 

After 87 million years, Henry waved off his friends and finally _finally_ made his way toward Alex. 

“Hey, love what did yo-” 

Unfortunately, Alex simply could not allow Henry to finish his question, because if he didn’t have those wind-bitten red lips against his _immediately_ , he might actually combust on the spot. 

Henry made a quiet confused noise, and Alex would be lying if he said it didn’t go straight to his groin. 

Alex groaned into the kiss, lips firmly planted against Henry’s with no intention of moving away until he absolutely needed air (and maybe not even then). He hands gripped Henry’s small, so fucking small, waist and pulled him flush against his own body, while Henry’s hands made their way to cup the base of his skull. 

Eventually, though, they did have to pull away as they were still in public. Alex sighed. 

“Hello, to you too.” Henry laughed. 

“Nope. You don’t get to talk right now.” Alex poked at Henry’s chest. “Because if you keep talking like that and looking like _that_ , I cannot be held responsible for what will happen.” 

Henry smirked. 

That. little. Fucker. 

“You did this on purpose, you little shit.” Alex was literally about to lose it, Henry knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Did what, darling? Did you enjoy the race?” Henry’s smirk only grew larger as thumped his head against Henry’s shoulder. 

“I hate you.” he mumbled.

“You love me.” Henry scratched his fingers through the hair at the nape of Alex’s neck. 

“Ughhhh, I do.” Alex sighed, because he really couldn’t deny that he did in fact love everything about his stupidly attractive boyfriend. 

“Soooo,” Henry teased, “What did you think? How was the race?” 

“How was the-” Alex took a deep breath. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You,” he poked at Henry’s firm peck, “are going to go put some fucking clothes on. Some non-fucking spandex clothes. And then, you’re going to do whatever you need to do so we can get the hell out of here. Got it?” 

“Got it. I’ll just take off my --” 

“If you take off that - whatever it is - I will literally divorce you.” Alex interrupted. 

Henry laughed. “Noted, I’ll leave the unisuit for you, love.” Henry winked. 

Henry leaned in to steal another kiss from Alex. 

Alex pulled away from the kiss just enough for him to barely be able to feel Henry (now slightly swollen lips) against his own and whispered, “Meet me in the car in 20.” 

Henry nodded before pulling away and walking toward the changing rooms. 

Fuck. Alex took a few deep breaths, took off his jacket to hold in front of himself as there was no more ‘willing away’ his current situation, and stalked off toward the waiting SUV. 

Once he was in the car, he pulled out his phone to text Bea. 

_We’re headed back to Kensington. Meet you for dinner?_

**_Bea._ **

_I won’t get my hopes up. Try not to cause another sex scandal, please?_

_No promises._


End file.
